


Now, I Don't Even Know My Last Name

by 1771



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Identity Reveal, Undercover Zevran Arainai, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1771/pseuds/1771
Summary: The two new elves were still talking with Valendrian by the north gate to the alienage when Soris and Io found them.“Ah, children,” Valendrian waved them over.“These two are who you’ll be marrying shortly; Valora Camael of Highever, and Zevran Nydoorin of Antiva City. I’ll, ah, leave you to get acquainted.”---Inspired by "Thieves Like Us" by Adarian, Zevran is given a cover by the Crows- a modest immigrant husband, a travelling merchant. It's going great until his wife is kidnapped and she kills a third of the Arl's guards.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden, Zevran Arainai/Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Now, I Don't Even Know My Last Name

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thieves Like Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163803) by [Adarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adarian/pseuds/Adarian). 



> Mr. & Mrs. Smith but it's the Blight
> 
> the warden's name is "iothra" not "Lothra" haha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter contains various rape threats from Vaughn and Co., more than were present in-game but about the same level of explicit.

“Cousin!” Shianni sing-songed as she shook Io awake. 

“Uggghhhhmmmm,” she returned as she rolled over and pushed her face into the pillow

“None of that! None of that!” Shianni chirped as she changed tactics and started pushing Io towards the edge of the bed.

“Nooooooo,” she groaned as Shianni’s shoves barely moved her shoulder. “Too early,”

“Iothra, you’re getting married today, come on,” Shianni whined. Io finally blinked her eyes clear and looked up at her cousin with suspicion.

“n’t that tomorrow?”

Shianni rolled her eyes. “It was tomorrow yesterday, silly. That’s why you’re hungover and sleeping in. You’re lucky Cyrion talked me out of waking you with a bucket of water.”

“Your mercy knows no bounds,” Io groaned as she sat up and rubbed her eyes awake.

“Uh-huh. Come on, Nola and I need to braid your hair.”

Shianni helped her lace up the wedding dress— they had embroidered the hem details together for the past week, even though Shianni’s embroidery was leaps and bounds better than Io’s. Nola was already waiting in Cyrion’s living room with the least-watered down jug of Alarith’s third-best wine. The three of them sat and passed around the wine as Nola and Shianni pulled Io’s hair into an intricate braided updo.

“This is such a nice idea,” Nola was saying. “Where in Orlais was Adaia from?”

“Out by the Western Approach,” Shianni supplied while Io took a sip of wine.

“It’s like an intimacy icebreaker,” Io grumbled. “She said it took Cyrion an hour to unwind all of her braids.”

“Well, your husband might not need that long,” Shianni said as she inspected their work. “But it looks good!” 

“Ma serannas, you two.” 

“Anytime, cousin. If I grew my hair out as long as yours, I’d say you had to do the braids for my wedding in return! For now I’ll just say you owe me one.” 

Nola hummed in agreement. “It does look great on you. And,” she grinned and leaned in close to gossip, “I saw your husband on the way in. He’s gorgeous.”

Io scoffed. “He could be a druffalo or a god for all I care.”

Shianni laughed and hit her arm. “Don’t say that! If you go in determined that it’ll be a disaster you’ll create one.”

“Yes, yes, alright. I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice man and we will be perfectly content.” Io deadpanned.

“That’s the spirit!” Nola encouraged. 

“Let’s go find the others,” Shianni hopped on her toes to peck Io on the cheek before she looped arms with Nola. “We’ll see you soon, Io!”

Io waved them out the door before turning to find Cyrion. He was in his room, holding a pair of her mother’s old boots, the kind that wrapped around your feet but left your toes and heels open. Adaia had never liked closed shoes, and Io agreed with her.

He looked up as she came in, and smiled as he embraced her in one of his vice-grip hugs.

“You look beautiful,” His eyes were quickly growing shiny with tears. “Oh, you look so much like your mother.”

“If she could be here,” Io said wistfully.

“I’m sure she would be proud of you,” Cyrion said with a wry smile. “Though she wouldn’t begrudge you your hesitation.”

He took her face in his hands. “Neither do I, Iothra.”

“Then why?” Io said, although they were both aware she already knew the answer.

“He’s a very fine man,” Cyrion reassured. “I truly think you’ll be happy if you give him a chance.”

Io nodded and clenched her jaw. “A bit late to go back now.”

Cyrion chuckled. “Miris may not forgive you if the wedding feast goes to waste.”

“Pfft,” Io waved a hand. “They’ll still have Soris to celebrate.”

“If you think Soris would let you get out of it alone, you’re mistaken.”

“True enough.”

“Speaking of, you should go find him and make sure he really hasn’t run off. But here,” Cyrion folded the boots and passed them to Io. “Your mother would want you to have these. She really would be proud of you, Io.”

She sat on his bed and slipped on the soft boots. They were engraved beautifully, and fit perfectly. 

“Ma serannas, father,” She said, and now they were both misty-eyed.

Cyrion cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “Io…there is one more thing. I know you’re proud of Adaia’s training, and I would never ask you to forget it; but would you avoid discussing it with your betrothed? I just— I don’t want us to look like troublemakers.”

Io bit back the urge to reply that she was a troublemaker. She had expected a comment to this effect, and it didn’t really bother her. Cyrion was a worrier to his core, and Io gave him plenty to worry over— but while before she would dismiss his warnings as a child ignoring a parent, in a few hours it would be one adult not heeding another. If her betrothed couldn’t handle how she could handle weapons, there were going to be more problems than her appearing to be a troublemaker. 

“You give me her boots before asking me to ignore the most important things she gave me.” Cyrion started to respond defensively but Io cut him off. “I understand what you’re asking, and why.” 

She pulled him into a hug again. “I love you.”

He froze before returning the hug. “And I you. Now go,” he let go and shuffled her towards the door. “I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

Soris was sulking under a tree when Io found him.

“You look nice,” she greeted lamely.

“Uh-huh. You, too. You ready to scale the wall or what?” Soris looked up at the alienage wall longingly.

“Not in broad daylight, Soris, the shems’ll put spikes on top if they see us.”

That got a dry laugh. 

“At least your fiance’s dreamy,” Soris teased, batting his eyes. “I heard Nola talking. My bride-to-be sounds like a dying mouse.”

Io rolled her eyes. “Then you’ll be fine as long as you don’t leave any traps out, huh?”

Soris scoffed and stood up, dusting off his pants. “Well, should we go meet our betrothed, cousin? No time like the present.”

“Last chance to make a run for it,” Io intoned. “I’ll cover for you if you really wanted.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t leave you to face Valendrian all on your own like that.”

Io laughed. “Much obliged, cousin.” They linked arms and went to find their soon-to-be-spouses.

Instead they found a bunch of shems harassing Shianni and the rest of the bridesmaids.

“Stay out of it, Io,” Soris muttered.

“Never,” She shot back, moving forward to stand between the shems and Shianni.

“It’s time you left,” She told the one leading the group. He was a tall, ugly man in equally ugly clothes, even if they looked expensive. “There’s no need for this to go any further.”

“Oho? According to who?” The man sneered. “I think further is exactly where it’s going.”

He took a step closer and made a move to grab Io’s arm, when with a sudden crash Shianni broke a water jug over his head, sending him to the ground. 

Everyone held their breath for a moment, and Io moved to stand in front of Shianni before the other shems started blubbering. 

“Do you know who he is?” One man cried as he hoisted the other one over his shoulder. “This is Arl Uriel’s son!” 

“Leave.” Io said again. “Make no mention of this, and neither will we.”

“That’s not how this works, knife-eared bitch!” Another, greasy-looking one called out as he and the other shems stumbled towards the gates. “You’ll be regretting this!”

“Oh shit,” whispered Shianni. Io turned to face her where she’d crouched on the ground, her face in her hands. “I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking—”

“It’s alright,” Io helped her to her feet. “I doubt he’ll be eager to tell how an eleven woman beat him with a jug.”

Shianni sighed and wiped her eyes. “I suppose— but what if he comes back?”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Io did her best to sound compassionate. “We’ll find another jug.”

That startled a laugh out of Shianni, and the other bridesmaids huddled to fuss over her. Soris tugged her sleeve.

“Come on, cousin,” he was clearly still tense, and his eyes darted around like he expected shems to jump out from around the corner. “Let’s go meet with our betrothed.”

Io looked back to Shianni and the others, and satisfied that she was in good hands, followed Soris.

The two new elves were still talking with Valendrian by the north gate to the alienage when Soris and Io found them. 

“Ah, children,” Valendrian waved them over. 

“These two are who you’ll be marrying shortly; Valora Camael of Highever, and Zevran Nydoorin of Antiva City. I’ll, ah, leave you to get acquainted.” 

Io’s fiancé was pretty, at least, with tanned skin and blond hair. She admired the tattoo on his cheek; she had gotten her own, two lines swooping down both her cheekbones, from her mother the day she turned fifteen-- much to Cyrion’s dismay.

“A pleasure,” he took her hand and kissed it, grinning. “You are even more beautiful than told, Iothra.”

Io truly struggled not to roll her eyes at the heavy-handed compliment-- her blocky, sharp features were handsome enough, but ‘beautiful’ was a stretch, and one most didn’t reach for. 

She didn’t dislike hearing the way his accent curled around her name, but she still replied, “Io, please. It’s what everyone calls me. And the pleasure is mine,” Just to see how he’d react, she took his hand and returned a kiss. It got her a laugh from him, quiet and warm. She didn’t dislike it, either.

“How was the trip from Antiva?” It was a long way to travel for marriage, but not unheard of. Adaia travelled farther, though it was over land.

“Windy,” Zevran responded with a smile. “And I can’t say I took to the sea well. Never quite got my sea legs, as they say.”

“Cousin,” Soris turned from his halting small talk with Valora and elbowed her. “Don’t they need to go get ready?”

“Of course,” Io moved to Valora’s side. “This way; the bridesmaids and I have set up in my father’s home.”

She smiled shyly and took Io’s offered arm. “Thank you,” she said, sounding a little shaky.

“Of course,” Io said again.

Nola, Shianni, Elora and Atheni were delighted to meet Valora, and spent the next hour chatting happily. Valora slowly relaxed as they braided her hair and helped her into her dress.

“Do you want kohl or anything?” Elora asked at one point. “I’ve got some blush and lip color somewhere, too.”

Valora’s face turned red. “Oh— I mean— if you think that’s best,” She stammered awkwardly.

“You don’t have to,” Shianni reassured her. “We were just offering.”

“Do you think— I mean, should I?” She pressed a hand to her cheek. “I mean, I know I’m plain—”

“What?” Atheni cut her off. “Are you kidding? You’re beautiful!” The others all expressed agreement, and Io thought back to how tense Valora was on the walk to Cyrion’s house.

“Did Soris say something?” Io asked coldly. He was nice enough when he was thinking, but could be offhandedly cruel when he wasn’t. 

“Huh? Oh, no! No, I was just worried…” Valora looked down at her hands. “I’m just being silly. He doesn’t… seem to like me much.”

“It’s not silly,” Nola cooed. She was a gossip, but one with a kind heart. “And he’s just nervous. Soris is the first of his family to get married,” she explained.

“He’s also a bit of a fool, generally,” Io added. Valora giggled as the others all agreed. “He’ll come to his senses and his manners soon enough.”

Valora sighed. “Thank you.”

Elora took Valora’s shoulders in a loose hug. “Of course! We’re all practically family, here.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Cyrion stuck his head in. 

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he called. “Io, Soris is asking for you.”

Io sighed and left the bridesmaids to their work. Soris was pacing anxiously outside Cyrion’s front door. 

“Sorry, cousin, I just— there’s another shem here, and I can’t find Valendrian.”

“The same ones as before?”

“No, a new man, and he’s alone, but he’s armed and armored.”

Io regretted that she couldn’t holster a sword in her wedding dress. She couldn’t go back in the house for it without alarming the bridal party.

“Alright, lead the way.”

The man was loitering near the south gate, seemingly happy to stand there ominously to his heart's content. Io and Soris had to skirt around the crowd gathering at the meeting platform where the ceremony was being prepared, and only had to field a handful of excited well-wishers. 

“I suggest you leave,” Io said once they were close enough to the man to talk— but not close enough to be in range of the longsword strapped to his hip. “We don’t want any trouble here.”

“And what kind of trouble am I causing?” The man asked.

“An armed shemlen in the alienage is often trouble,” Io responds. “Please, leave.”

“I will not. What now?”

“I will ask you once more.”

“And I will deny you. Where do you see this going? As you noted, I am armed. Any fight would be rather one-sided.”

“If you won’t leave, it will be a fight all the same,” Io declared, shifting her weight into a ready stance.

“I’ll— uh— I’ll go get help!” Soris announced as he backed away.

“No need,” The man said. “As much as I admire your courage, I am not looking for a fight.”

“I should hope not, Duncan,” came Valendrian’s voice as he approached. Io would have wondered how he managed to always arrive at the right time, but she knew it was because he was a shameless gossip who covered it by being a mother hen. It was a good style for the elder of an alienage, even if Valendrian tried to cover it up by appearing wise and aloof.

“It is good to see you, old friend,” The man replied.

“Children, This is Duncan, a Grey Warden and a friend.” He turned back to the man.

“And what is a Grey Warden doing here?” Io asked, reluctantly relaxing her stance.

“I need to speak to you, Valendrian. It is of utmost importance.”

Valendrian smiled apologetically. “You’ve come at an inopportune time, I’m afraid. We’re about to have a wedding. Two, in fact,” He gestures to Io and Soris.

“Ah. My congratulations,” The Warden nodded at them. “I will speak with you afterwards, then.”

“Very well,” Valendrian made a shepherding gesture directed at Io and Soris. “Go! Take your places, We’ll be starting shortly!”

Wedding ceremonies in the Denerim alienage are raucous things before the Chantry sister takes the stage. The spouses-to-be and the rest of the wedding party have a complicated dance of changing partners that Io was pretty sure Valendrian said started to trick the Dread Wolf, so he wouldn’t know who was getting married and cause misfortune. 

The rest of the group gently guided Valora and Zevran through the steps, and by the time Io and Zevran were paired together at the end of the dance, he performed them gracefully. The yard was full of music and cheers, as some of the audience knew where to call out in time with the song and others were just a bit drunk and excited. The music came to a soft close, the whole marriage party flushed and smiling. 

“Children, Families, loved ones,” Valendrian began his speech. Io did her best to focus, but she’d heard Valendrian’s rota of stories before, and the way her blood was pounding against her ears was more than a little distracting. Zevran’s warm grip wrapped around her wrist wasn’t helping matters.

Valendrian talked them through the preliminary Alienage vows-- to cherish, to protect, to respect-- before the Chantry sister took the stage for the “real” marriage ceremony. 

Much of the crowd tuned out her words, and Io was making a face at Shianni behind the human’s back when a commotion started towards the rear of the congregation.

Io counted six shem guards pushing through the crowd, flanking the group of shems who had hassled Shianni and the bridesmaids earlier.

“Milord,” the Chantry sister gasped. “What-- What a surprise,”

“Yes, yes,” the pig-faced one waved a hand as he climbed up on the stage. “Sister, I’m afraid this little play is at an end. My friends and I are throwing a party, and find ourselves somewhat short of female guests.” He leered at Nola over the sister’s trite objections. Io felt her blood boiling, and found herself wishing once again that she could strap her sword over her wedding dress. Zevran was tense beside her, stiff as a board, his hand a vise grip around hers.

“We’ll take those two,” he gestured at Atheni and Nola, “and that one, and-- where’s the bitch who bottled me?”

“Over here, Vaughn!” A man called, pulling Shianni forward. Io moved to come between them, but Zevran’s grip pulled her back. 

“Let go of me, you stuffed-shirt son of a bitch--” Shianni cursed. Io tore her wrist from Zevran’s grip and did her best not to launch across the stage, her eyes flicking between the swords at the guards’ hips and this Vaughn’s slimy fucking face.

“Ah, I’ll enjoy taming that one,” he sneered. Io felt something snap and took three quick steps forward, driving her fist into the shem’s soft stomach.

“You dirty fucking rabbit!” one of the well-dressed lackeys yelled as a guard grabbed her around the waist, pinning her arms.

“Fuck it,” groaned the pig. “We’re taking that whore too, I’ll teach her a fucking lesson.” He straightened up and approached Io, squaring off before bringing his backhand across her face. She did her best to turn with the blow, but the heavy rings he wore caught her in the temple and her sight went blurry. “Grab the lot of them and let’s get out of this trash pile,” he announced.

The squad of guards drew their swords, warning off anyone thinking of interfering.

“But-- Milord--” the Chantry sister whimpered, and was ignored.

The five of them were marched out of the alienage, Io’s hands held behind her back.

“Just wait until we get to the Keep,” one of the lackeys jeered. “We’ll show you knife-eared bitches what it really means to fuck like rabbits.” The other one laughed at him. Shianni spit at him and got another backhand for her trouble.

In the market, Nola and Atheni started to cry louder. Io was half tempted to tell them to shush, if only so that her head would stop pounding, but her tongue felt heavy as lead. She could see the cityfolk-- shems out and about for their daily shopping, city guards, Chanters, merchants-- turn to see them, then turn away just as quickly. She hoped they were fucking proud of their indifference, but her head was swimming such that it was difficult to muster up hate for anything other than the shems leading them forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zev: aha hello it is i, a humble and honorable citizen  
> tab: hmmmm ok square. can you wait one second i have to go sate my bloodlust by threatening a grey warden  
> zev: haha……aw without me ;) ?


End file.
